


velvet

by haesuns



Series: boys playing god [6]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Blood, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Implied Murder, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, theyre unhinged.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22805608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haesuns/pseuds/haesuns
Summary: Take a lesson from the people, love. Learn to stay dead.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Series: boys playing god [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642027
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	velvet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boyeater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyeater/gifts), [incendiarism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incendiarism/gifts).



> today i follow in mandy footsteps and almost 1k fic. love u guys

"Your guests await you, do they not?"

Black velvet, scarlet shards. A hand that itches towards the throat.

The night wanes away, and the beginnings of a fever pound within the halls. Dagger under the chin. Pendulum, pendulum, a swinging weight to cut closer to the chest with each sweep. A bit heavy, a bit clumsy, yet ever so constant.

"I should." Jaemin smiles, sickly saccharine and alight with a sighing princely venom. "But that doesn't mean I will, love." The mask rests easy upon the slope of his cheek, shifting only the slightest as he tastes the words, lets them sit in his mouth and dissolve between his teeth.

"Irresponsible," he tsks, hands running over black velvet tapestry and the corners of his lips upturning almost imperceptibly. Spoken with an irritating ease, the kind that threatens to melt Jaemin's own and coax the sin from mortal hands. And perhaps Jaemin could indulge him, press the dagger a little harsher, teeth to the skin; draw a little blood, won't you? It'd do you good to remember who you are.

_ Not human, dear. A little worse, unimaginably worse. Neither should make much of a difference anymore. _

A rise and fall—the symphony crescendos, the silence settles, and what is a mask if not simply a mirror?

"Do remind me of who you are, stranger."

"Must I?" Closer. "The game you play is an interesting one. You stall as though I'll wait for you." Closer still. It's a distance that brings the engraved tracings and gold edge of the mask into focus, taunting opulence with simplicity—not so different from Jaemin, he supposes.

"They speak of you," Jaemin offers, muted through the heavy cloths of the chamber, and the fingers falter, blade nearly slipping from his grip. "A shadow, a ghost. I heard the whispers as soon as you stepped into the hall."

But the masquerader doesn't stop. Gloved fingers slide up to the flat of the metal, lowering it with an unmatched softness, stark contrast from the vicious smile upon wine-stained lips. It widens, almost sickeningly so the second Jaemin's back hits the wall in time with the crash of a distant orchestra, and the sky hasn't come this close to his skin in months.

"Then you should know who I am. You're the one who let me in. Drop the act, Jaemin, the gods have no time to watch those they have abandoned."

Of course not. Donghyuck always seems to be right about these things.

"Take a lesson from the people, love. Learn to stay dead," Jaemin sneers, revelling in the way Donghyuck's hand immediately shoots out to slam his shoulder against the wall, a resounding thud that makes him scoff. Mirror, mask. Not so different, after all.

Not as untouchable as he pretends to be.

Discordant piano, and the hand rises upwards. Up the throat, along the jaw, to a rest beside the ridge of black porcelain. But not quite—the height of the night has yet to come.

"So quick to fall silent, Donghyuck. I'd miss your disgusting confidence if it weren't so fun to watch you stumble." A delirious fancy of terror and a pause for thought. "No red this year? Of course the guests would think you to be a mere shadow."

"A testament to your folly, then," murmurs Donghyuck as though he's focused the fire into the bruising grip on Jaemin's shoulder and the burn in his eyes, shadowed by the mask and unblinking. His voice stays steady even as Jaemin leans well into his warmth, smile gracing Donghyuck's lips as he, too, moves once more—not to the lips, no. To the shell of his ear, breath fanning over in an undeniably deliberate gesture to send shivers upon the skin.

"The red comes later, Jaemin. I'm sure you'll help me add the finishing touches."

  
  
  


There it is. Twelve chimes of the clock that bring the outside festivities to an uneasy silence and a knowing look to Donghyuck's features, laced with peculiar giddiness. Midnight. Lips part, eyes meet, and the mirror shatters.

Bad luck? Quite the opposite in Jaemin's mind, running with a sugared pestilence called Donghyuck, sweeping black garbs shrouding the thoughts and inking them with scarlet. No, bad luck would just be incorrect. Call it what it really is: a knowing destruction that takes root in the veins until it reaches the skin and tears them both apart. There's a specific charm to entertaining the spiderweb of cracked glass, to watching where sharp ridges rise and distort the image. The mirror is shattered, but it's a reflection all the same.

But does it serve its function? Not any longer. Holding onto the shards will only mar the hands; cast them aside and hope those around you aren't foolish enough to walk barefoot.

Unless, maybe you're someone more like Donghyuck. Maybe watching this unfold will bring some fleeting amusement, even if it's only for a moment.

Donghyuck's eyes certainly hold this same amusement as he shifts himself off from Jaemin, heavy breaths tapering into something gentler with each passing second. He moves with a vitality the locked palace cannot even dream of understanding, smirks, tells Jaemin to make himself look presentable with a flush high on his cheeks.

"A promise is a promise," says Donghyuck.

His fingers unfold towards Jaemin and the music resumes, mindless chatter threatening to bring the walls down upon celebration.

Best not to keep him waiting.

The hands no longer wear gloves, and the slide of Donghyuck's fingers is a tugging warmth that pulls him up and out of the light of stained windowpanes. A chord in his heart struck without caution, a rush of cooler air as the chamber door swings wide open.

They stare, of course. A traitorous prince, death himself, and the terrible glint of heavy cascades down their intertwined hands. Sharp teeth, a smile too wide, a speckling of red over the cheek.

"Our guests are ready, darling."

Curtains drawn. Stage set.

Black falls into red, and the festivities commence.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah!!!! these notes suck bc im writing them at school but yeah!!!
> 
> haesunns on twt and cc


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